


Tactile

by Hoodoo



Category: School of Rock (2003), School of Rock - Lloyd Webber/Slater/Fellowes
Genre: Blindfolds, Blow Jobs, Communication, Established Relationship, Explicit Sexual Content, Feathers & Featherplay, Fun in the bedroom, Healthy Relationships, Hot/Cold, Ice Play, Massage, Wax Play, attentive, sensory play
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-21
Updated: 2020-08-21
Packaged: 2021-03-06 15:42:37
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,216
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26031337
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hoodoo/pseuds/Hoodoo
Summary: Blindfolded, Dewey lets youdothings to him.
Relationships: Dewey Finn & Reader, Dewey Finn/Reader
Kudos: 11





	Tactile

His wrists weren’t bound, but you did use his tie to cover his eyes. 

Pulling it around his head to make sure the knot was at the side so it was comfortable made his messy hair messier. Dewey grinned and surged upwards using his core to try and kiss you. He missed, getting your jaw instead, so as you backed yourself off the bed you returned it properly. His smile was contagious and the kiss broke as you smiled too. 

Laid out nude on the sheets, you took the opportunity to just look him over for a second. Maybe sometimes he was surprised you liked his body, but you did, all soft belly and hair and all. When your silence and non-movement stretched to an uncomfortable length, he shifted a little.

“Baby? You still there?”

You shook your head to pull yourself back into the situation at hand. “Yeah. I’m still here. Sorry. Was drooling over your body.”

He snorted a laugh, but it didn’t sound too self-depreciating this time.

“Are you ready?” 

He wiggled a little. “Yep!”

“Good . . .”

With his affirmation you shuffled over to the box you’d put by the bedside table in preparation for tonight. You picked it up and set it at the end of the mattress, hopefully far enough away that he wouldn’t kick it. Opening it, you chewed the inside of your cheek to decide what to use first. 

Start easy, you thought. 

Your fingers found and wrapped around a feather. You brushed it along your own arm for a moment to test it. Satisfied it was the softest thing in the box, you copied the motion on his forearm.

Even with him waiting in anticipation, it took a few moments for Dewey to realize the soft edges of the peacock feather were being drawn up his arm. When he did, he chuckled and twisted his arm to expose the more sensitive underside of it. Pulling the feather up and down the limb until he was accustomed to it, you then moved it without warning to his shoulders, then down his chest. 

He didn’t react much, truthfully. The feather was very light. You liked watching the iridescence of the eyespot against his skin, and repeated it several times over his torso. You even brushed it lightly over his lips, which did make him sputter a little in surprise, and then dragged it down to his groin, running just the barest tips of the feathers over his cock and balls. He shivered and gave the tiniest moan, but you were pretty sure it was just out of habit and not because what you’d just done was overtly stimulating. 

That didn’t bother you. There was more to play with. 

You continued, but with your free hand also found the second feather in the box. Heavier, sturdier, than the peacock’s, you moved the two in tandem along the skin of his thigh, then pulled the peacock’s feather away and dropped it to the mattress, leaving only the other one in its place. 

This one tickled. Dewey wiggled a little as the tip of it traced designs over his skin. Goosebumps broke out on his arms; seeing that reaction that made you smile. Shifting on the bed, you reached downward to start at his toes--which made him jerk, a little, as involuntary as his goosebumps--and drew it up one leg. Occasionally you moved it back and forth instead of a straight line, for variety. You brushed it over his cock, just a passing touch; he wasn’t hard, yet, but he wasn’t completely flaccid anymore, either. You followed the line of hair from his pubic bone to his bellybutton, then up his chest. Flicking his nipples with it, when they became hard, you drew around them with the softer edge again. 

Further upward, you paused at the hollow between his collarbones. When he tilted his head back, you took the invitation to use the feather to stroke his neck and his scruff, then teasingly followed his jawline to his ear. The tip of the feather traced the shell of it, and that made him twist his head away. 

“That’s too ticklish!” he complained lightly. 

You laughed and didn’t push it. “Okay.” 

Idly you dragged the feather over his chest while you considered what to do next. You’d only had a vague idea of how you were going do this. He didn’t know you were buying some time; he just relaxed under the feel of the feather on his skin. Rummaging in the box made him tense, which caught your attention, so you did it again. 

His anticipation was fun to watch.

Deciding to use your hands next, you brushed the feather over his lips like the first, earning the same reaction of surprise, then you discarded it too.

The small bottle of massage oil you’d pulled out of the box wasn’t anything special: no warming properties, no scent. It was edible, though. You watched him try to figure out what you were doing by cocking his head a little as you popped the top of it, but it made no other noise as you poured a healthy amount into your palm. 

Giving Dewey a couple more seconds to simply wait, letting the anticipation help fuel his responsiveness, you rubbed your hands together. The sound of it was recognizable, and he smiled. Massages weren’t uncommon between you two. 

You smiled too, even though he couldn’t see it. Then, once your hands were warm enough, you put them directly on his chest. His smile widened and then his lips softened with the slight moan that escaped him as you ran your oiled hands over him. 

You massaged his chest and stomach. You used heavier pressure on his shoulders, because he stored tension there. You didn’t neglect his hands. Several times you added more oil to make your administrations smooth, and by the end, your hands were tingling and his skin was shiny. Because this activity wasn’t novel and previously massages ended in other physical activities, he now sported a full erection. 

With an indulgent chuckle, you reached between his legs and gave him a gentle tug. 

Dewey had groaned while your hands were on him, and now gasped at your fingers surrounding his cock. You didn’t add additional oil as you stroked him; what remained in your hand was enough to add a thin coat of lubrication. His hips bucked a little upwards but you didn’t call attention to it. His chest also rose and fell more quickly.

Giving him a few more twisting strokes, including using your thumb over the tip to collect and smear him with his own pre-come that beaded there, your own breath came a little sharper. It was fun making him feel good. 

Before it went on too long, however, you released him. Dewey groaned at the loss. 

Reaching over to the bedside table this time, you grabbed the glass sitting there carefully. Your hand was mostly dry, but your plans didn’t include dumping it over him, although that would fit the theme of surprise sensations tonight! Giggling to yourself, you took a drink.

“What’re you laughing about, baby?” he asked. 

“Nothing,” you assured him. “Ready to keep going?”

He nodded. The blindfold hadn’t slipped. 

Taking another drink, you set the glass down. Then you got off the bed. Picking up the box and the discarded feathers and half-empty bottle of oil, you dumped them back into it before setting it back on the ground. Dewey had cocked his head again, trying to ferret out exactly what you were doing. Like before, you gave him no clue and padded to the end of the bed to crawl up it from between his legs. 

He tensed until you settled there.

“I think I know where this is going,” he announced.

“Hmm,” you replied, wordlessly. 

It gave you the few extra seconds needed for the ice in your mouth to melt. Once it was gone, you didn’t tease him; you opened wide and took his cock in with one quick swallow. 

Dewey almost folded in the middle at the sudden shock of cold. He’d never once asked about the ice water you’d brought in to the bedroom tonight. 

“Jesus--christ, baby--”

You didn’t let the cold continue to overwhelm him. You pulled back and off and he relaxed.

“So you knew this was where this was going?” you questioned him lightly.

He shook his head. “N-no, I-I--”

You didn’t let him finish answering you. To interrupt him, you did it again. Swallow, release. Swallow, release. By the fourth or fifth repetition, the chill in your mouth had mellowed, and you stayed on his cock longer, sucking at him to continue to impart the remaining temperature to him. Dewey groaned and gasped and one hand went to your head, as it tended to do when you were blowing him. When it tightened and the noises he made became a touch more keening, you pulled off once more because you knew his signals. He was close to the end. 

You weren’t done with him yet though.

His cock was dark and shiny, and bobbed against his pubic bone with the sudden lapse of sensation. Leaving him working for breath you shook his hand off your head and went back to the table. Digging into the water, you grabbed an ice cube. 

Letting it melt in your hand, you allowed drops of cold water to hit him on random places on his chest, stomach, and thighs. He groaned with each one and tried hard not to put a hand back on his cock. You let one drop of water dribble onto the underside of his shaft, and that made him jump again. 

You laughed. 

The cube was smaller now, and you used it directly on his skin, lightly dragging it on his chest and nipples and down to his bellybutton. His shuddered and twisted in the sheets a little, and by the time you drew the very tiniest sliver of the remainder over his mouth, it was completely gone. He licked his lips through his panting.

“Baby, please. Please!”

“Please what?” you replied, wiping your hand dry on the sheets before going back to the bedside table. 

“Please . . . I don’t know, just please!”

You laughed out loud again. He laughed a little too, but there was an undercurrent of desperation in it and it ended with a groan. His cheeks were flushed.

You looked over him. His skin was still slicked from the massage oil; water had beaded up on it. That was good. You’d used the oil specifically so this next part would be easy to clean up afterwards. 

He’d been teased with feathers, made warm with your hands rubbing him, and surprised by cold. Carefully you picked up the candle you’d lit before all this started. You’d done your research and chose one that was specifically designed for what you had in mind. You’d even tried it out on your forearm to learn how high to hold it and what the difference in temperature would be closer versus further away. 

Like the cup of ice water, Dewey hadn’t asked about the candle either.

Even more carefully than simply picking it up, you lifted it high over him, almost a full arm’s length up, and let a tiny amount of wax dribble onto his shoulder. 

Dewey yelped and jerked.

“Too hot?” you asked immediately.

It took a second of panting before he answered. 

“ . . . no.” 

“Okay to do it again?”

He nodded, and this time the blindfold did slip a little. You didn’t readjust it. 

You did your best to avoid areas with lots of hair. Keeping the candle high, you dripped melted wax on his shoulders, the undersides of his forearms, his belly. Each droplet made him jump at the contact and hiss a little, but he moaned and wiggled too as it dried on his skin. His cock remained hard. 

After you’d taken your time to paint him in random splashes of wax--the candle was marbled with different colors, so that had transferred to him--you blew the flame out and set the candle back on the table. 

He’d been so indulgent, allowing you to have some fun, even if you hadn’t told him ahead of time. Gently, you undid his tie from around his head. Dewey blinked owlishly and lifted his head to look down at himself. Some of the dried wax cracked as he moved. 

He held a hand out to you. More wax crumbled and fell to the sheets. The water that had been beaded on him dripped over his side too. 

“Wanna finish me off?” he asked with a wink. 

“More than anything,” you replied truthfully. Playing with him had turned you on. “Let’s go take a shower? Two for the price of one: getting you cleaned up and getting you off.”

He laughed and agreed, and you hauled him off the damp sheets. He followed you to the bathroom, cheekily pinching your bare ass as you went. You were already thinking about how you could use the spray from the water and temperature changes to continue what you’d started in the bedroom, and finishing with him standing behind you was going to be your final reward. 

_fin . . .?_


End file.
